


First Kiss

by crimsonwinter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock's first kiss, leading to an overdue snog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

John twiddled his thumbs nervously, occasionally glancing from under his brow at his best friend, who was seated across from him at the table in Angelo's restaurant.

He tapped the wooden surface with his fingernails in the melody of the song that had been playing in his mind ever since his dream. He didn’t know what the song was, or what it meant, but the melody sunk into him like teeth, and he tried desperately to hide his heated skin from Sherlock. 

His partner caught his eye as he looked up from his newspaper, and with that tight half-smug that he did whenever John let his innocent eyes slip, he set the paper down and clasped his slender fingers. 

Watson’s breath caught in his throat, and as it attempted to escape, it let out a feeble squeak.

Holmes’s prolonged eye contact made John’s stomach churn, but he kept his countenance cold and clenched his muscles to keep his blood from rising to his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

"Something’s the matter with you today," Sherlock cooed from beneath curled bangs. His full lips parted and touched with each syllable and John sat upright when his body sparked in reaction.

Watson pinched the skin of his hand tightly, painfully, as he spoke “Nothing, nothing.”

Sherlock smirked again. John’s quivering form was illuminated by the yellow streetlights behind him, his light hair ruffling softly when another customer entered the shop.

It was the early evening, but the damp air drizzled down and darkened the London streets.

The sassy detective felt his stomach drop when his partner took a deep, shaky breath and spread his sweaty palms across the table. 

The tea had gone cold, but Sherlock’s pale skin heated under his black coat and long scarf. He sensed that John was about to confess something, and that thought alone made Sherlock simmer with excitement.

He cocked a brow at his partner, blue eyes dazzling. John parted his lips, his confession about to slip, but he closed them again quickly and sealed its exit.

Sherlock internally sighed. He wasn’t going to lose this game. He flipped the corners of his paper, looked down, and bit his lip. 

When he glanced back up, he was met with the adorable sight of his partner muttering to himself, tapping a strange tune on the table.

"What’re you doing?" He asked.

The air stiffened.

"It’s just a song."

"What?" 

John’s heartbeat balked as he dawned on what he had said. He lifted his palms from the table and lowered them to his knees, which were shaking. He squeezed them before he rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment.

"What song?" Sherlock pried, his cheekbones tingling with heat.

John puffed out his breath, which ruffled his short hair, and a pang of happiness shot through Sherlock. However, this time, John actually spoke. "I sort of… had a dream… last night."

Sherlock cocked a brow, his heartbeat quickening. His gaze never left his partner’s pink face. John didn’t meet Sherlock’s gaze, to the detective’s dismay. "Go on." Holmes purred.

"Well… seethethingisthatitwasaboutyouandyouandmewereinthestreetsandyoukissedmeandtheshopswereplayingthiscertainsongthatnowisstuckinmybrainandi'mnotgaybuti’mscaredsherlock!"

John swallowed his bumbling words and slammed his head down on the coffee table in mortification.

Sherlock was astonished. The nerves in his arms igniting, he reached for John’s shivering figure. He didn’t dare look around at the other customers, for he didn’t want to chicken out of confronting his guy.

He almost touched him, but withdrew at the last moment in doubt. Seemed that John was embarrassed beyond belief to even have dreamt about kissing him. He probably thought the act disgusting, and that’s why he was nervous.

John buried his face beneath his arms, wishing painfully that Sherlock would touch him. He sighed because this dream finally told him all that he’d been misunderstanding in his workings with Sherlock. Why his smirk sent him through the clouds, why the idea of him spending time with others in the lab stabbed him with jealously, and why he was so attracted to him every time he took that damn scarf off.

Sherlock sat back and cleared his throat. He needed to act cold and suave.

"That’s funny, actually. It’s nothing to worry about though, friend. Here, let’s go. I’ll get the bill - hey! You, here. And the tip’s there, yes. Okay, John. John, let’s go. John?"

Watson raised himself from his position, his pink face now pale.

"I guess I’m just tired. Sorry for that. Let’s go." He stood up, his legs wavering like trembling dandelions in a breeze. Luckily, none of the customers had seen his little outburst, seeing as there was only two other tables occupied. John walked out of the shop, not checking if his man was following.  The crisp night air hit his hot eyes and refreshed them. He stepped down and beside the entrance, and waited for Sherlock as he shoved his hands into his beige coat pocket.

Holmes shuffled out, his tall stature causing John’s breath to quicken. Now that he had had that dream, each alluring move Sherlock made only caused him to warm more, his skin tingling with attraction.

Sherlock hid his racing mind from his partner as he took his side and walked with him, his own sweaty hands in his pockets. Was John disgusted by the thought of them? Was there even a them? He’d joked in the past, even the coffee shop owner thought they were dating.

He wanted to push John into a dark corner and kiss him.

John wanted to guide Sherlock to a streetlamp and kiss him under it, the flurries of raindrops dancing on his tangled hair.

Both men walked silently beside each other.

John’s mind and body were now ignited and renewed with the brisk air, and he began to wonder if Sherlock was embarrassed and repulsed with what he said.

Sherlock huskily responded, “I wasn’t.”

John looked to his right side, where Sherlock had bent his lean face toward the stone street. Did he say that out loud?

"You did." John blushed loudly, his entire being heating from the tips of his toes to the ears that Sherlock found cute.

He swallowed, his dry throat coaxing words to stay down.

"Look," Sherlock stopped walking, and John had to turn and find him since he was walking with much focus and determination.

"Are you embarrassed by your dream?" Holmes hoped John would understand his deeper meaning in this question, but the night had been so fantastic that he wouldn’t mind if he had to flat out say it. 

 _Are you embarrassed by the thought of us?_ is what John heard.

He looked into Sherlock’s tall form beside him, his blue eyes darkening with the night. "No."

Sherlock smirked, his heart lightening greatly. He prayed that John understood that he wasn’t repulsed by the thought either, in fact, he was overjoyed.

John was lost in Sherlock’s thin face and plump lips, and Sherlock counted all the lines and ripples in John’s with wonder. 

The men were leaning in closer without realizing, and only until a biker spend by and shouted “Get a room!” did they stop and realize where they were.

John took the opportunity of interruption to step back and laugh nervously. He turned his body away from Sherlock, but two rough, strong hands peeled his body back in. 

The detective threw caution to the wind and kissed Watson, his lips forcefully crashing down onto his partners, but softening when John found his footing and stood solid once more.

The street was silent and the air stilled. Nobody was around as the men shared their first kiss. John’s head spun and his heart beat furiously, but Sherlock’s heart had calmed and was now pumping peacefully, happy that it was finally able to indulge in Watson’s sweet lips.

John was the first to pull back, for he needed to catch his breath. He was too dazed to even smile, but Sherlock knew from the look in his half-lidded eyes that he wanted that as much as he did.

They walked in silence after that, closer, so their shoulders brushed.

Once they made it to the car, Sherlock turned to John.

The tables had turned and John was now the one to force a kiss onto Sherlock. Responding happily, Sherlock and John fell into the backseat of the car.

After a bit of rustling and closing of doors, the men were seated upright, facing each other.

Sherlock’s half smirk grew into a full grin as he looked into the face of his partner, his guy, and John responded with a gleeful countenance. 

The two then kissed lightly, running their hands over the other’s thighs, shoulders, necks and hands. Their light pecks grew heavy as Sherlock pressed himself inward, and John responded by trailing his tongue across Holme’s lips.

The detective opened his mouth in consent and John swam in bliss as he explored more of the incredible Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

As the car heated, the song began to play in John’s mind. He pulled back with a look of horror and stuttered “Is this… a dream?”

Sherlock took a breath so deep that the strong columns on his neck rose to the tender surface of his skin, which was now revealed due to his scarf being flung to the side in the throws of passion.

He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling beautifully, “No.”

Sherlock kissed John again to calm his trembling terror.

John moaned a quiet “Good” into Sherlock’s lips and continued to melt into the backseat of the car.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Johnlock fic I ever wrote - and I hadn't even started watching the show yet! eheheh


End file.
